


In which peace is a subjective term

by Regen



Series: Post-War Stories [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Gen, PTSD discussion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5868454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regen/pseuds/Regen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the strongest people sometimes need someone to come and tell them it’s gonna be all right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which peace is a subjective term

**Author's Note:**

> In the same timeline as the other post-war drabbles I've written, but they're not necessary to understand this one.

As soon as she had made her choice and fired her gun up on top of the Catalyst, Shepard believed she had signed her death warrant. The explosion consumed everything around her, knocking her back and rendering her world dark. By all accounts, that should have been her second and final death.

Yet, somehow, she survived, as she seemed wont to do.

An indeterminate amount of time passed before her eyes cracked open. They were met with a bright white light, making them immediately close again. She winced in pain.

“Shepard!”

_Miranda?_

The light was glaring, but the hope in Miranda’s voice compelled her. Bracing herself, she slowly opened her eyes again. This time she was prepared, and the light wasn’t as overwhelming when Shepard fully opened her eyes. From her right, Miranda leaned over her, blue eyes expertly scanning over her.

It reminded her of the time she accidentally woke up when Cerberus was putting her back together. This time, however, instead of a clinical coldness, Shepard was met with a relieved smile.

She wanted to feel the same. She knew she should. But all she felt was _tired._

“Shepard, can you hear me?”

She nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to get stuck in her dry throat.

“Good. How are you feeling?”

She tried again to force something – anything – out.

Miranda seemed to understand her struggle. She leaned over and buzzed for the nurse. “Hang on, let’s get the doctor in here and see if she can get you some water.”

Water would be nice, but as Shepard’s body and mind began to wake up more, something much more pressing weighed on her than her parched throat. It was a struggle, but she finally managed to say, “Ship?” Her throat felt scratchy, her words hoarse.

Miranda stilled, her mouth hardened into a thin line.

Shepard’s heart squeezed in fear. “Where?” She cleared her throat, forcing the words to come out.

“We don’t know, Shepard.”

Terror seized her, and she heard her heart monitor beep more insistently. _Please don’t tell me the blast-_

Miranda sighed. “A lot of ships are still missing. The blast knocked systems offline. The first 24 hours were a nightmare. We’re beginning to bounce back, and they’re close to getting enough ships repaired to send out proper search parties. We’ll keep looking as long as it takes.”

Shepard wanted to ask how long it had been, but the doctor strode into the room at that moment and she lost her chance. From there on out, it was a constant flurry of doctors and visitors coming in. Her friends wanting to see her and reaffirm in person that she was alive and awake. Alliance officials wanting to speak with her and get her statement. Representatives from the other species coming and wanting to thank her in person for what she’d done. A never-ending parade of gratitude and admiration.

She felt she deserved none of it. She’d done her job, but poorly.

That night, when her room finally quieted and she was alone, Shepard finally had time to think over what had happened. The joy she felt in seeing some of her old crew paled in comparison to the worry and anxiety that hung over her like a lead weight. She feared the decision she made wasn’t the right one, that she had made things harder on the galaxy for no reason. That she wiped out EDI and the geth for no reason.

That she accidentally killed her crew for no reason.

A silhouette in the doorway startled her. Her back stiffened as her eyes squinted in the dark to see who it was. Instinctively she began to reach for a gun that wasn’t there.

“Just me, Commander,” Hackett said, his voice subdued in the relative quiet.

“Sir.” Shepard sat up in her bed as best she could.

He shook his head as he silently made his way over to her bedside. To reduce the noise, he picked up a chair and gently set it down next to her bed before he took a seat in it. His eyes met hers, and Shepard saw the same weariness she felt inside.

“Hell of a thing,” he murmured. “You did it. Stopped the Reapers like you said you would.”

“We all did it. We all fought and won.”

He nodded. “But it didn’t come without a cost, one we’re going to be paying for decades.”

She took it as him meaning the cost of repairing the infrastructure and connection the blast severed. Guilt seeped in like a black pool and spread through her, twisting her insides. “About the blast-”

Hackett, as tired as he was, was still sharp enough to quickly discern what she was thinking. “Wasn’t referring to just the blast, Shepard. The Reapers are responsible for the worst of the damage. You did what you had to do.”

“…so you heard?”

“I read the statement you gave. I don’t envy what you had to do. But the fact is we made you the spearhead of the war effort. You had every right to make the decision based on what you thought was best.” He shrugged. “Some may disagree, but they don’t have room to complain. What’s done is done. You saved us.” He paused, the lines in his brow deepening in thought. “For what it’s worth, I would have done the same. Anderson would have, too. He’d have been proud of you.”

Anderson’s last words rang in her head: _“I’m proud of you, child.”_ She wondered if he would still have said the same, knowing how things turned out.

“He said as much,” Shepard murmured half-heartedly.

A long moment of silence passed. Shepard, if she had the energy, would have fidgeted in her bed. The lack of response from Hackett unnerved her, more than she cared to admit.

Finally, he leaned back in his seat and asked, “Where’s your head at?”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“How are you feeling?” A pause. “Mentally. I’m sure you’ve had better days, physically.”

“All right, sir. Still taking it all in and accepting that it’s over.” Her response was automatic, honed after years of being in the Alliance and in command.

Hackett failed to buy it. Even in the dark, she could feel his discerning stare. “Commander, given what you’ve done, you owe it yourself to be honest. I’m not looking for an easy answer to appease me. I want the truth.”

 _The truth._ A lie was easy, but the truth would be far more complicated. She exhaled a shuddered breath, realizing there was no worming her way out of this. The Admiral was far too clever to fool. And honestly, she was far too tired to try.

“…I don’t know. Raw, I guess. I survived and yet I don’t feel any relief or joy in it. Just dread at what’s to come. I’m all keyed up, waiting for something to happen, and yet I’m so exhausted I can barely think.” She felt like she was being pulled in a hundred different directions, and no one had even asked anything of her. “I’m worried about my crew. I’m guilty for having killed EDI and the geth when their lives were really just starting.” Joker would never forgive her for that one, assuming he lived.

She closed her eyes, unwilling to see what Hackett’s reaction would be. “I almost wish I hadn’t survived.”

“Shepard-”

“I know.” It was selfish, and she knew it. She opened her eyes; she wouldn’t run from this. “But I’m here and I’ll do-”

“No.” His tone brokered no argument. “All you need to do is rest and recover.” He reached over and gently put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me. You’ve done more than enough. We asked a lot of you; _I_ asked a lot of you. Out of necessity, but that doesn’t change the fact that you were tasked with the impossible. To say you went above and beyond doesn’t even begin to cover it. But that doesn’t come without a price, and seeing and hearing you like this, it drives it home how much you’ve suffered and what the war’s done to you.

“We’re going to find the _Normandy_ and bring her and the crew home. The quarians are already working on something to help revive the geth. No guarantees there, but if anyone can do it, it’s them, and I already have Admiral Shala’Raan’s word that if they manage to find something, they’ll pass it along to us so we can fix EDI.”

Shepard’s hand clenched, the most physical effort she could put in to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“And when you’re more healed up, we’ll find someone for you to talk to. We’ve got a doctor helping with your physical recovery. There’s bound to be one that can help you with your _mental_ recovery.”

“Sir, you don’t need to-”

His hand squeezed her shoulder. “Shepard, every single person in this galaxy right now owes you a debt we cannot repay. The least we can do is make you feel a little better and get you the treatment you need.”

He paused, running a hand under his cap. When he spoke again, his words were clear and enunciated with an uncharacteristic softness, “Your job is done. We asked, and you gave. Now let us help you.”

Her training told her she was not done; she was _never_ done. There was always another enemy, another battle to fight. Yet she knew that this time, she had to ignore it. Hackett was right. She stopped the Reapers, and maybe, _maybe_ , she could finally rest. And in time, know some semblance of peace.

For once, Shepard didn’t calculate her response or set her emotions aside. If she was to recover, she had to start here. So she let herself do something she almost never did.

She cried.


End file.
